


lights will guide you home

by cedarwoods



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Post-Finale, Root is Alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 18:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9083812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarwoods/pseuds/cedarwoods
Summary: Shaw endeavours to give a recovering Root the best damn Christmas conceivable.





	

The frigid winter air stung Shaw’s face as she tore down the street, narrowly evading patches of ice. She had already fallen earlier in the day in an alley, and her ass was still smarting. Chasing after a piece of shit ( _Aidan Jackson, age 36,_ the Machine had supplied) who plotted to murder his wife when she had contacted the police to report domestic abuse was decidedly not how Shaw had wanted to spend the day, but she had little choice in the matter. Fusco had claimed that he simply wasn’t cut out for prolonged pursuits anymore, Root was currently out of commission, and Reese and Finch were…

She pushed the thought out of her head. There was no time for distractions. 

She hoped that she would at least get to shoot Jackson on behalf of his wife. 

“Alright,” she panted, as she entered Central Park, “still got eyes on this slimy son of a bitch?” 

_“He’s here in the park too, trying to get around that skating rink,”_ the Machine replied. 

Through the crowd, Shaw caught sight of a tall, burly man dressed entirely in black running madly. His coat was unzipped and flapped around him, giving him the appearance of an overgrown bat. 

_“He’s at your ten o’clock now, Shaw. Hurry.”_

“Trying to give me the _slip_ huh?” Shaw asked, eyeing the skating rink as she was struck by a sudden burst of inspiration. She dashed toward it, accidentally bumping into a few Christmas carolers in the process and sending them careening like dominoes. She gave approximately zero fucks about it, however, as she estimated the angle at which she needed to apprehend Jackson. She dropped to her knees onto the slick ice. 

Skaters scrambled out of her way when they saw Shaw gliding forward with alarming speed. Jackson materialized several feet before her. Seizing her opportunity, she whipped out her gun and cleanly shot him in the knee. She took immense satisfaction in watching him crumble onto the snow, face-first, shouting in agony.

_“Nice one,”_ the Machine said admiringly. _“It’s truly a shame that the camera angles around here are so poor; I’d have loved to have shown this to Root.”_

“She’d probably joke about wanting me to slip into bed with her or something,” Shaw muttered under her breath. 

“Who’re you talking to?” Jackson asked between his wails. 

Shaw stared down at him pitilessly and ignored his question. “You will never hurt your wife or make me run after you in the goddamn cold again. Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal.” 

_“Can I –”_

“No,” Shaw interjected sharply. “You absolutely cannot tell her I said that.”

“NYPD, freeze!” a familiar voice bellowed. 

“No need to tell me, Lionel. Pretty sure I already froze my ass off,” Shaw replied coolly. 

“Ha ha, very funny,” Fusco huffed. “Anyway, I’ll take it from here. Thanks.” 

“I’ll see you when I see you,” Shaw said as she walked away. 

“Yo, Miss Congeniality!” 

Shaw turned. 

“Give my best to Cocoa Puffs, will ya?” 

“Will do, Lionel,” Shaw said. He had been profoundly affected by Root’s near-death as well, she knew, as he had had the misfortune of seeing her fake corpse lying on a slab in a morgue. The scene had taken a toll on him, and he had been immensely relieved to learn that Root had in fact survived. “Happy holidays to you and Lee.” 

Shaw heaved a sigh and began to trudge home wearily. Now that she was no longer running, she could feel the cold seeping through her utterly useless peacoat and sweater, deep into her bones. She glowered at the dreary grey sky as snowflakes began to descend rapidly. 

_Fuck winter._

Shaw decided that she would take a long, hot bubblebath as soon as she returned to the safe house to help her icy fingers and toes thaw and soothe her aching, grimy body. 

Her foul mood dissipated when she finally stepped into the blissfully warm safe house and beheld Root. She was sleeping against the mauve and grey cushions on the window seat with Bear curled by her feet; her breath was fogging the window. Parts of her knit navy blue sweater peeked out from beneath her woolen blanket and emphasized the paleness of her face and the shadows beneath her eyes. 

She looked beautiful and tranquil but forlorn and exhausted, like a fallen angel with a broken wing, Shaw thought. 

Bear bounded to her as she took off her boots. “Hey Big Man,” Shaw said, patting his flank. “Thanks for taking care of her for me again. I’m gonna need you to watch over her for a few more minutes, okay?” 

Bear woofed happily and trotted back to Root. 

Shaw suddenly wanted nothing more than to cuddle with her. She discarded the bubblebath idea and replaced it with a steaming ten-minute shower that left her feeling wonderfully refreshed. 

Root smiled at Shaw when she re-entered the living room, drying her hair with her towel. 

“Hey Sweetie,” she said softly. 

“Hey,” Shaw replied. “You’re awake. How’re you feeling?”

Root gave Shaw a feeble, apologetic smile. 

“Sorry. Guess that was a stupid question.” 

“It wasn’t. I’m touched by your concern, Sam,” Root murmured sincerely.

There was such profound love radiating from Root’s eyes that Shaw found herself melting in it. She cupped Root’s face in her hands and kissed her, forcing her to close her eyes. 

When they pulled apart, Shaw whispered against her lips, “Don’t move a muscle. I’m gonna make us some hot chocolate.” 

Shaw busied herself in the kitchen with two large red mugs and cocoa powder. She could hear Root quietly talking to the Machine, likely discussing Shaw’s recent number. Not trusting the Machine to hold back the more embarrassing details from the mission, Shaw hurried back to Root, clutching their beverages. 

“Thanks,” Root said, accepting the proffered mug. She took a sip, scrunching her face as whipped cream got onto her nose and the corners of her lips. She placed her mug on the windowsill and tried to wipe off the whipped cream, but Shaw stilled her hand. 

She put her own mug next to Root’s, then gently rubbed the tip of her nose. Shaw leaned in to kiss Root again, licking at the whipped cream on her mouth. Root moaned appreciatively in response. 

Shaw pulled back Root’s blanket and slipped between her legs. When her back was flush against Root’s chest, she draped the blanket back over both of them.  
“I’m not hurting you, am I?” Shaw asked. 

“Not in the slightest.” Root drew her closer and wrapped her arms around Shaw’s abdomen. 

They sat together in comfortable silence for a while, drinking their hot chocolate and watching the snow fall. 

“This is really nice,” Root breathed in Shaw’s ear. 

Shaw hummed in assent then snuggled closer to Root, leaning her head against Root’s shoulder and lacing their fingers together. She felt cozy and safe in Root’s embrace – so much so that she was slowly succumbing to the lull of sleep. 

“I just realized,” Root said softly, “that this is the first time we’re together for the holidays.”

Shaw’s eyelids fluttered open as she considered this. It was true: two years ago, Samaritan had come online, forcing the team to split up for months and adopt new identities. Then, last year, she had been captured by the enemy. Root had travelled alone across the country searching for her after Reese and Finch had given up. And just a couple of months ago, Root had almost…

“I’m really glad we found each other Sameen,” Root finished, interrupting Shaw’s musing.

“Yeah,” Shaw said, squeezing Root’s hand. “Me too.” 

It occurred to Shaw that Root had been alone for the vast majority of her life and likely hadn’t celebrated Christmas – let alone her birthday – since she was a child. The thought of Root feeling lonely, bouncing from dingy motel to dingy motel with no fixed identity made Shaw angry in ways she couldn’t express. One of their last conversations together before Root was shot echoed hauntingly through her mind: _Actually Sameen…I’ve been hiding since I was 12. This might be the first time I feel like I belong._

Shaw was abruptly consumed by the desire to show Root how much she meant to her – how much she needed her. She stared unseeingly at the city lights and the swirling snow, privately vowing to give Root the best damn Christmas conceivable. 

*  
Shaw glared at the top of the brand-new Christmas tree – a 9½-foot (rather obnoxiously large, in Shaw’s opinion) pre-lit Fraser fir. She had had Daniel, Jason and Daizo help her bring it into the safe house and set it up in the living room, next to the fireplace. As Root was napping, Shaw had decorated it lavishly with red, gold and silver ornaments. She had stood on her tiptoes to reach the upper branches, but the tree’s zenith eluded her. 

Of course, this problem could have easily been solved if she simply used a ladder, but she may or may not have broken theirs two months ago to smash Samaritan agents’ heads open.

Shaw was about to get a chair when she heard footsteps. She froze, silently cursing.

Root entered the room totteringly, rubbing her sleep-laden eyes. “Sam? What are you – ” Root’s voice trailed off as drank in the sight before her. Her perplexity quickly gave way to unabashed delight, and Shaw swore she lit up like a…well, like a Christmas tree. “Sameen!” she squealed. “It’s gorgeous!”

Root then noticed the star in Shaw’s hand and smirked. “Aww darlin’, is this lovely tree too tall for you?”

That did it. 

In one fluid but careful motion, Shaw lifted Root and propped her on her shoulders. “Alright, since you’re literally a giraffe, _you_ are going to help me put up this goddamn star.” 

“This is such a clever ploy to get between my legs, Sweetie,” Root crooned, patting the top of Shaw’s head. 

“You are incorrigible,” Shaw muttered. There was a small smile on her face, though, that Root thankfully could not see. 

Root giggled then triumphantly placed the star on the tip of the fir. Shaw lowered her onto the carpeted floor, and they gazed at the tree for a moment.

“Well,” Shaw said, disrupting the quiescence, “time for your rehab session.”

Root’s shoulders sagged, as though the very thought of rehab physically drained her. Shaw couldn’t blame her; she knew that Root was still in terrible pain. She had made tremendous progress in the last month due to her sheer determination, but the rehab sessions reminded her of just how damaged and fragile her body was. She hated it. 

Shaw sighed. “I’ll give you a massage afterward.” 

“You always know how to make a girl feel special,” Root said as she kissed Shaw’s cheek.

*

“Root. What. The hell. Are these.” 

It was Christmas Eve. Root lazily reclined on the armchair, eating a piece of peppermint bark and enjoying the warmth of the fire with Bear loyally curled up by her feet, as he had been for the past few days. Shaw, meanwhile, appeared agitated. She held up two shirts with an expression of distaste. 

“Ugly Christmas sweaters!” Root exclaimed. “I figured we should embrace all the Christmas clichés since it’s our first time celebrating together. So I had Her buy a few sweaters for us.” 

Shaw stared at her. “Seriously?” She scowled pointedly at the little camera in the corner of the room.

_“In my defence,”_ the Machine said, _“they were super cheap.”_

“Oh come on, Sweetie; even Bear’s wearing one. He loves it,” Root said, gesturing to the dog, who was indeed sporting a green sweater with a reindeer on it. Bear barked and wagged his tail exuberantly. 

_Traitor._

“Indulge me. Please?” Root asked with an irritatingly effective puppy pout. “Look, we chose a black one for you. It’s not too bad.” The front of the sweater in question was decorated with snowflakes and a gingerbread house. 

Shaw huffed exasperatedly. “Fine,” she said, snatching it and tugging it over her dark, thin shirt before tossing the red one adorned with a Christmas tree at Root’s face. She walked to the bar and pulled a bottle off the top shelf. “But I won’t be getting through this night without booze.” 

Root beamed at her. Her smile became tinged with melancholy, however, as Shaw handed her a glass of bourbon. 

Shaw was baffled. “Uh, everything okay?” she asked uncertainly. “I can get you another drink if you want.” 

Root shook her head. “It’s nothing. I was just…reminiscing.” 

Shaw sat on Root’s armrest and waited expectantly. 

Root fiddled with her glass and stared into its depths. “A few months ago, John, Harold and I attended a wedding for a mission. We drank bourbon afterward while the newlyweds were dancing.” She glanced up at Shaw, but her eyes had a glazed, faraway quality. “I missed you _so_ …ferociously. We’d all been shouldering the world’s problems for so long and…” Her voice wavered. “I wanted us to have a moment of _normalcy_. Just a few minutes where we didn’t have to worry about the AI apocalypse. Just us, drinking carefree and being a little family.” 

Root entwined their fingers. “I never thought…that I would actually be privileged enough to have this normalcy though,” she admitted quietly, gesturing to the Christmas tree. “I know you did all of this for me, Sameen. I…I can’t thank you enough.” 

It was a heavy moment, and Shaw didn’t know what to do with the emotions stirring faintly inside her. She cleared her throat. “Well, it wouldn’t be Christmas without the presents though.” She clinked her glass against Root’s. “To consumerism.”

Root chuckled. “I’ll drink to that.”

Shaw got off the armchair and sat next to the tree, retrieving a box from under it. “This one’s for Bear,” she said. She shred the wrapping paper and opened the box, revealing a new squeaky bone and a pair of fluffy bunny slippers. 

Bear yipped and eagerly took his chew toys to his bed. The women watched him in amusement. 

“I’m assuming you added the slippers,” Shaw said. 

“Yep. She had them delivered with the sweaters.” Root dug under one of the armrests and produced a velvet box. “I asked her to send this as well,” she said coyly. “It’s for you.” 

Shaw accepted it warily, half-expecting a diamond engagement ring. She knew she was probably thinking about weddings because of Root’s story, but she truly wouldn’t put it past her to propose. She knew Root had a secret stash of wedding magazines buried in her closet. 

It wasn’t a ring, however – it was a key. Shaw looked at it blankly. 

“Elias and his men are all dead,” Root explained. “And they left behind a chamber full of weapons. We can’t let them fall into the wrong hands, and we lost a bunch of our own gear to the cops, so…” She grinned. “Those weapons belong to us now.”

“Oh, _fuck yes_!” Shaw took fistfuls of Root’s sweater and kissed her sloppily. 

When they both regained their composure, Shaw picked up a large, thin, rectangular package from under the tree. “This is for you,” she said.

“You’ve already pampered me so much, Sameen,” Root murmured adoringly. She nonetheless took the proffered gift and carefully unwrapped it. 

It was a canvas painting, created by Shaw herself. It depicted the team standing under Brooklyn Bridge, gazing at the city on the day that Shaw had returned – one of their last happy moments before everything went to hell. 

“I figured you missed them,” Shaw said. “Just wanted you – us – to have something to remember them by.” 

Perhaps it was a trick of the firelight, but she thought she could see tears glimmering in Root’s eyes. She became certain of it as Root bowed over the painting, her hair veiling her face. 

Root looked up at Shaw at last, swallowing hard. “It’s beautiful,” she said quietly. “Thank you.” She rose from her armchair with some help from Shaw and limped to the hearth, placing the painting on the mantle. Root lightly ran her fingers over it, lost in her memories for a brief moment. She then frowned as she noticed something hanging from a hook in the terra cotta brick wall. 

“Is this mistlet – _oh_.” Her words were punctuated with a moan as Shaw pressed her body against Root’s back, brushed her wavy hair aside and began kissing her neck. 

“Didn’t know you were a repressed romantic, Sameen,” Root teased, even as she tilted her head to give Shaw better access. 

“Thought you said you wanted to ‘embrace all the Christmas clichés.’” She spun Root around and captured her lips in a long, insistent, open-mouthed kiss.

Shaw suddenly wrenched her mouth away from Root’s and began to tear at the latter’s clothes. “Your ugly Christmas sweater needs to come off right the fuck this instant,” Shaw breathed as she tossed it onto the armchair. Her own sweater followed suit. Within moments, the two of them were standing naked in front of the fireplace, kissing furiously. 

One of Shaw’s hands remained on Root’s waist as the other wandered down to her ass. She squeezed it briefly before swiftly lifting Root, whose bare legs wrapped around Shaw’s hips. Root stared down at her with an expression that was as feral as it was tender as Shaw carried her to their bedroom.

Root was splayed in the middle of their king-sized bed like a goddess waiting to be worshipped – which, Shaw thought wryly, was actually an apt comparison: since the Machine had adopted Root’s voice and personality, Root had indeed attained demigod status. 

She wondered when it was that loving Root had become her religion. 

Shaw crawled on top of her. She tried to keep some distance between their chests out of fear of hurting Root, but the latter emphatically pulled her down. For brief moment, they continued to simply stare at each other, as though daring one another to make the first move. Shaw felt her heart thudding uncharacteristically fast. She wanted this to be perfect. 

With a small, knowing smile, Root cradled Shaw’s head and kissed her slowly, letting their tongues meet. Shaw relaxed considerably. She caressed Root’s neck, then devoted her attention to Root’s chest, showering her breasts and scar with kisses until Root pushed her head, begging her to go lower.

She obliged, trailing kissing along Root’s belly and inner thighs before finally settling between her legs. She placed her left arm over Root’s abdomen to keep her firmly in place, protecting her from jolting up and exacerbating the pain in her chest. 

“Wait,” Root breathed. She traced her fingers along Shaw’s forearm, gazing at the new tattoo etched into her skin. 

It was an arrow with a soundwave within the shaft. Two overlapping dotted circles surrounded the soundwave, and another enclosed the double arrowhead. 

“Just got it today,” Shaw said quietly. The Machine had helped her design it. 

“What does that soundwave mean?” 

“‘We might as well be a symphony.’ And right now,” she said, planting a gentle kiss on Root’s labia, causing her to shudder, “I’m conducting it. I’m gonna make you moan a thousand times.” 

With that promise, Shaw sucked, licked and thrust into Root. She felt Root trembling and took pleasure in hearing her cry out a litany of cuss words mingled with Shaw’s name and unintelligible whimpers. She helped Root ride out her orgasm, then climbed back up her body, panting. She tucked a sweaty tendril of Root’s hair behind her ear and kissed her. Root sighed into her mouth when she tasted her herself on Shaw’s lips. 

Shaw was about to flop onto her pillow when Root slid one leg between hers. “Your turn,” she whispered.

“Fuck,” Shaw exhaled reluctantly as she felt the pressure against her soaking core. 

Root put her hands on Shaw’s hips to guide the friction between them as Shaw grinded against her. She groaned as she climaxed and collapsed against Root’s shoulder. Root soothingly rubbed her back as she caught her breath. 

Shaw kept her hand on Root’s chest until she felt her heart beat slowing down. She slid her fingers down Root’s sternum and draped her left arm protectively over her lover’s belly. She interwove their ankles. 

Root caressed Shaw’s new tattoo. 

“I wanted to remember what you said,” Shaw murmured. “Wanted to immortalize those words.” The tattoo anchored Shaw when she felt as though she was spiraling in simulations. The arrow, her shape, symbolized Root’s absolute, unconditional and unwavering acceptance of her; the soundwave reminded her in turn to tune into the dim melody that she heard in the depths of her mind whenever she was around Root. 

“I love you,” Root said, kissing Shaw’s forearm. 

It was a quiet admission, one stated as honestly and naturally as an irrefutable fact, but Shaw could sense the wonder in Root’s voice and found herself marveling at it as well. She recalled a time years ago when such a confession would have made her balk, but somehow, somewhere along the way, she had found comfort in Root’s love for her. Root was steadfast and hopeful. She was the lighthouse that had guided Shaw home through stormy waters.

“That’s good,” Shaw mumbled against Root’s jaw, “because you’re stuck with me forever.” 

Root smiled softly. “I look forward to every day of forever with you, Sameen.” She yawned and closed her eyes. 

When Shaw was certain she was asleep, she leaned over and lightly kissed Root’s forehead and eyelids. “Me too,” she whispered. Then, she, too, surrendered herself to a deep slumber as the clock tower in the city began to ring, welcoming Christmas day.

**Author's Note:**

> Shaw's tattoo:  
> 
> 
> I almost gave up on this fic 5 times knowing that I wouldn't get it done by Christmas. In the end, I toughed it out and finished it, but it is a bit rushed. I hope you all enjoyed it nonetheless.


End file.
